


Understanding

by orphan_account



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Gen, actually, in the progression of enemies to friends to lovers, it is some soft and gentle character development and bonding, read for the banter, read for the banter and stay for the relationship potential, then harass me in the comments to finish my more romantic fics, this is where they go from enemies to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They didn’t like each other, and they certainly didn’t have much in common, but Benvolio was willing to admit a begrudging respect for the Capulet girl. Her uncle made some sort of demand about white roses- “For innocence and virtue, not that Montagues are necessarily familiar with those concepts”- and Rosaline rolled her eyes. He smiled against his will, a brief tug at the corners of his mouth that he had to force himself to hide. Alright, maybe she didn’t like him, but he could admit to himself that he liked her.----Or: Rosaline and Benvolio actually manage to speak to each other long enough to become friends without killing each other or getting attacked by the enraged citizens of Verona. It's almost like the foundation of arelationshipbeautiful friendship.





	Understanding

Benvolio let himself stretch across the back of his chair, amused by the tense, polite argument that his uncle was having with Lord Capulet over wedding colors. It was all posturing, of course. He doubted anyone in the room really cared about what color ornaments would be hung at the reception, certainly not himself or Rosaline. The whole affair had been the Prince’s idea to begin with, and Benvolio had half a mind to suggest that his royal highness should be responsible for planning it. He would enjoy the reproachful, annoyed look on Escalus’ permanently over-composed face if he were to voice that suggestion.  

Against his more impulsive nature, he kept the thought to himself. If growing up in Verona had taught him anything, it was when to pick his battles. He could afford to resign himself to whatever garrish arrangement ended up mostly-satisfying both his uncle and his future uncle-in-law.

Convinced that he wasn’t going to miss anything of importance- the discussion had moved away from colors and onto flowers, a subject that seemed to infuriate Lord Capulet- Benvolio glanced towards his bride-to-be. He almost laughed at her expression. Rosaline’s disinterest matched- maybe even exceeded- his own.

They didn’t like each other, and they certainly didn’t have much in common, but Benvolio was willing to admit a begrudging respect for the Capulet girl. Her uncle made some sort of  _ demand _ about white roses-  _ “For innocence _ and  _ virtue, not that Montagues are necessarily familiar with those concepts”- _ and Rosaline rolled her eyes. He smiled against his will, a brief tug at the corners of his mouth that he had to force himself to hide. Alright, maybe she didn’t like him, but he could admit to himself that he liked her. Not as a wife or a bride or even a friend, but in the way one shared a comforting understanding with others stuck in similar circumstances. He couldn’t say that he hated her any more, just their engagement. She seemed just as unhappy about it, but there was nothing either of them could really do. 

Well, there was something Benvolio  _ could _ do, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice what little remained of his better nature over a kiss that wasn’t even his. He’d done more than just kiss someone who wasn’t his ‘beloved’ during their engagement. He was many things, but Benvolio wasn’t a hypocrite. Or a narc. 

\----

Rosaline rolled her head side to side on her neck, trying to stretch the tension out of her body. She was grateful for the break her uncle had called for. She hated these meetings with the Montagues. She couldn’t stand pretending that this marriage would be civil or wanted, and she didn’t believe it would solve Verona’s problems. A true love, like the kind Romeo and Juliet shared, might have. Loves like those were meant to change worlds. In death, Rosaline supposed, they had: just not for the better. Now Verona was on the verge of civil war and Rosaline had been thrown to the dogs in hopes of appeasement. Rosaline liked to think of herself as an animal lover, but she was considerably less fond of creatures- or people- with body counts. 

There was one dog that in particular concerned her. Rosaline let herself turn just enough to catch Benvolio in the corner of her eye. He was standing at the opposite end of the garden, looking almost innocent, as if he had wandered in just to admire the topiaries. He had the kind of charming demeanor that would have been disarming on anyone else, but he was a Montague, and he carried his family’s reputation. On him, charm felt like a weapon. 

Charm had never been Rosaline’s strong suit, but she had often wished it was. If she had been more charming, more loved, Escalus might have- well, he could do whatever he wanted. He’d chosen this, and he wasn’t her problem anymore. Instead of dealing with whatever was left of what she had thought to be love, it was easier for her to focus on the two problems she could hope to address. One was this engagement. The other, which would, God willing, be easier to deal with, was Benvolio. She could do this. 

She walked towards him, slowly, so as not to draw attention, but she drew his anyways. He watched her with an interested look, face turned just enough to watch her, and raised an eyebrow as if her approach amused him. 

“Something on your mind, Capulet?” He asked. His eyes sparkled with good humor. It was incredibly unfair. 

“Always. Unlike you, I use mine.” She responded sharply on instinct, but cursed herself internally. She was supposed to be charming him. 

He took her barb gracefully, smiling as if it were a joke between friends, but the smile was brittle. This one didn’t quite reach his eyes, crystal-blue and wary. “Sometimes, beloved, my mind can spare a thought or two. Would you care to share any of yours?” 

She hesitated for a second, unsure of how to proceed. Court, when she had been a part of it, before her father’s death, had always had protocols. Rules for how to conduct oneself and what topics and behaviors were appropriate for whatever purposes. Even outside of those protocols, Rosaline had found herself on easy footing with most other members of nobility. It was simple to talk about art or music or the marriage prospects of a visiting nobleman. Discussing a kiss that could ruin her reputation (and by extension her sister’s reputation), a kiss with the  _ Prince _ , no less, was much more difficult for her. 

The pause that Benvolio allowed between them was patient, and the deliberate steadiness he provided gave her the space to gather her words. His eyes were so intolerably kind. 

“I want to know why you’re doing this,” she said, surprised by her own forwardness. Her voice was soft but much stronger than she expected it to be. Rosaline was never a weak speaker, but rarely did what she allow her words to carry so much weight. “I want to know why you’re letting yourself get dragged into an engagement you so clearly hate. I want to know why you’re letting them use you as a pawn. I don’t have a choice; I have a sister. But there’s nothing they could do to you if you took a little Montague money and ran. There’s nothing they fault you for if…” Her mouth couldn’t get the words out, as if holding them back made them less true. She mentally shook herself started again. “There’s nothing they could fault you for if you told them.” 

The last two words felt more vulnerable than she would have liked, but she couldn’t help that now. Her family, the man she loved, they had made her vulnerable. Benvolio knew that. She was tired of being played, tired of lying about everything. Rosaline just wanted someone to be honest with her. 

Benvolio seemed to sense this in her, and answered honestly, if tentatively. “I’m doing this because I have much less choice than you believe, and a little more honor than I am given credit for. I haven’t told anyone about…  _ anything _ , because my reputation ensures that everyone would label me either a liar or a hypocrite. Beyond that, I don’t see why whatever happened between you and the Prince is anyone’s business but yours. In respect to choice: I have no money, no resources, and no connections that I do not have through my uncle. If I tried to run from this engagement, I would be homeless and destitute.” He paused for a second. “I doubt you would be either of those things if you ran to a nunnery.” 

“I’m not running to a nunnery, Benvolio.” 

“Can I ask why not? You seemed rather keen to run last we met, at the banquet.” 

“I wasn’t planning on running then either,” Rosaline answered honestly. “There are times I wanted to, there are still times I want to, but I can’t imagine leaving Livia behind.” 

“That’s your sister, right?” 

“Yes. Two years younger than me. Don’t go anywhere near her.” 

Benvolio let out an almost-laugh, an amused sputter. He shook his head. “Don’t worry, my love,” he began, voice playfully solemn. “There is no one but you.”  

Rosaline rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure when she began enjoying this conversation, but she couldn’t help it now. “If any woman ever believes your promises, she is a fool.” 

“What if I could keep a promise to you?” Benvolio asked. 

“What could you possibly want to promise me? You’ve already won my hand.” 

“I want to promise you,” He trailed off mid-sentence, searching for words. “Understanding. I want to promise you that. Despite whatever happens with this engagement, whether we get married next week or your Capulet-ly scheming gets us out of this engagement tomorrow, I want us to understand each other well enough to be friends. I think it would be useful, maybe even enjoyable.” 

“Enjoyable? I thought I was a harpy.” 

“You are, but the cleverest, most interesting and stubbornly independent harpy that I’ve ever met. I’d very much like to be your friend.”

Rosaline rolled the thought around in her mind. She knew that Benvolio had the potential to help her as much as he could hurt her, but she didn’t have much more to lose anyways. Besides, against her better judgement, she wanted to trust him. She felt something between apprehension and relief when she met his eyes: still genuine, still curiously waiting for her response. 

“Benvolio, you are an incorrigible dog. I would never want to marry you, but I think I would very much like to be your friend too.” 

Benvolio’s answering smile was sweet as honey. “If you are half as sharp as I think you are, you will never have to worry about the kind of husband I might be. We’ll figure a way out of this.”

“Oh,” Rosaline said, genuinely smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks, relieved to no longer be alone in this. “I’m sure we will.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr [@starcrossedcapulet](https://starcrossedcapulet.tumblr.com/)


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